


The Gold Light Falling Backward Through the Glass of Every Room

by orphan_account



Series: The Landscape After Cruelty [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their final war, Luke and Wedge managed to find peace on a small shore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gold Light Falling Backward Through the Glass of Every Room

Corellia was still beaten down by the Rebellion, its population tired and worn after all these years. The people understood quiet and solitude. Wedge's hometown was too large, too engorged with useless memories, so he picked a small fishing village on a southern gulf where the water was always warm. He and Luke left D'qar for the shore, built a tiny cottage with two rooms and a porch.

 

They worked without words, relearning the secret language of hand gestures and easy eyes and smiles they had built exchange by fumbling exchange during the cold nights at Echo base, the same way they communicated in the carnage of Coruscant or at the academy when they didn't want to be overhead. Before they had the walls up they slept in the sand under the stars, Luke's cloak spread out underneath them, the tide a steady rhythm just grazing their feet.

 

In the decade spent chasing their dead daughter Wedge had flipped through several different images of Luke, some of them appearing in golden light like Jakku mirages, others jackknifed into nightmares. There was youthful Luke smiling in the hangar on Yavin IV; dark Luke celebratory but separated from the rest of the frenzy on Endor, the flame of his father's corpse still burning hot in his eyes; dead Luke lying in the mud at Ben's feet on the lawn of the academy; evil Luke dressed in black with a red lightsaber instead of green. Wedge had concocted them all, measured their differences and similarities in search of a constant variable that could lead him to something cement and immovable in his absent, capricious lover.

 

Of course it was all for naught. But Luke beside him on the shore now—Wedge knew that was real and all that mattered. He turned onto his side, tried finding the remaining gold strands in Luke's gray hair, cataloged the new lines on his face with old scars.

 

Luke glanced away from the sky—What is it, he asked.

 

Nothing, Wedge said in the way he ran his hand over Luke's strong chest and broad shoulders, stopping to cup Luke's bicep, fingers splayed out against the muscle with his thumb pressing into the bone.

 

Luke was pliant as Wedge slid on top of him, kissed him languidly and open-mouthed, the glittering stars chasing out all the caricatures' shadows. Their noses bumped together as they seamlessly fell into old patterns, the sea coming in higher now, dragging over their ankles.

 

Wedge had never felt as old as he did in that moment, but it was a good feeling of being weathered and worn by the storm and better for it. Luke returning, Rey returning, it was all that mattered and the past was forgotten with the tide.

 


End file.
